


in the midst i think of you, and how it used to be

by themazeballet



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themazeballet/pseuds/themazeballet
Summary: Eames realises he recognises Arthur from another life.





	in the midst i think of you, and how it used to be

Eames had a way of looking at a person, mostly as if he were staring at the very thing that made them human. And Arthur supposed he understood why Eames did it, to really understand his mark and how they moved and talked and maybe to comprehend why they did the things they did. What Arthur didn't understand was why Eames was looking at HIM that way, like he was studying him for a job.

"What?" Arthur said, and Eames just shrugged. "You've been staring at me like you're dissecting me, what's going on?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Eames started, rolling his eyes. "I'm trying to remember something."

"And do you remember?"

Eames frowned. "Vaguely." He tapped his poker chip against the table, and proceeded to move it over the back of his fingers, back and forth, still staring at Arthur.

"That poker chip...it's not your totem, is it?"

Eames raised his eyebrow. "Hmm, brilliant deduction." He shook his head. "Don't you think I know when I'm not myself in dreams?" He flipped the chip in the air. "My job is to become a part of the person's dream, distract them from whatever it is they think they should be protecting." Eames licked his lips as he looked at Arthur. "Wouldn't do much good if I didn't know what reality was." He slipped the chip into his pocket and got up, looking back at Arthur.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. "What now?"

"Just thinking how hard it would be to forge you," Eames said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "I mean, surface wise, easy as pie, just a little more observation, but motivations, thought process, I would never be able to capture a complete you. You keep everything so locked up tight. Afraid someone will find the key?" He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and dug out a lighter, lighting the cigarette. His eyes never left Arthur's face.

Arthur turned away from Eames. "Have a good day, Mister Eames."

Eames didn't stop watching Arthur, and Arthur, for the most part, was able to ignore him. There was something nagging at the back of Arthur's mind, though, something of vital importance. But he was preoccupied with the research for a new job and couldn't really concentrate on why Eames had taken a sudden and deep interest in him.

Arthur managed to forget about Eames staring him down until it happened again. It's not as if Eames followed him or anything, just…watched him. Watched him and played with that ridiculous poker chip. Arthur had finally had enough one day. He got up and stood in front of the chair Eames was sitting on, and Eames just calmly looked him over, smirking.

"What now?"

"Nothing, darling, I think I remember what it was."

"What _what_ was?" Arthur says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"What it was I was trying to remember, of course," Eames replied.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Arthur felt his stomach drop to his perfectly shined Oliver Sweeney boots. "Oh…shit."

Eames grinned at Arthur again, and looked pointedly at Arthur's crotch, raising his eyebrow and sliding his eyes back up to Arthur's, holding his gaze. "I'm glad you remembered now, too," he muttered, getting up and leaning close to Arthur. "It's been a while."

Arthur turned on a heel and went stalking off; it wouldn't do for Eames to see him nervous. He brushed past Yusuf with a barely mumbled greeting, and Yusuf watched him retreat before looking at Eames. "What did you say to him this time?"

Eames laughed, scratching his eyebrow and shrugging. "Some people can't handle the truth, I suppose."

Yusuf shook his head. "Eames, the day the truth comes out of your mouth is the day I win the Nobel Prize in Chemistry."

"Well, congratulations, what are you going to do with the prize money?"

Yusuf snorted and sat down at his table. He flipped through his notebook of incomprehensible chemical equations, and then looked up. "Arthur is the best point man money can't buy, and if you distract him any further—"

"What? Cobb's going to fire me? Un-bloody-likely," Eames muttered, flipping the poker chip over his fingers, his other hand flipping through his files. He held up a picture. "How does a morbidly obese wodge of a man get a beautiful Russian princess like this?"

"Would you like my answer converted into pounds, or are Euros okay with you?"

\---

"Arthur, you are in my way," Eames said, barely looking up from his mobile. Arthur stood in the doorway of Eames's shitty little apartment in a very unfashionable _arrondissement_. Arthur could never understand why Eames, with all his money, would choose to live in such unsavoury environs.

"It was a mistake."

Eames finally deigned to look up at Arthur, raising an eyebrow. "And I thought you were the one who liked specifics." He sighed and elbowed Arthur out of his way to let himself into his flat. Arthur followed him and closed the door behind him.

"I don't believe you've ever seen my little flat," Eames continued, flicking on a lamp besides a disgustingly over-stuffed but comfortable looking chair. Everything in the flat looked comfortable, expensive. Hard-wood floors and tall windows with Provençal-style curtains pushed open. The door to Eames's bedroom was open, and Arthur spied an un-made bed of white linens and a chocolate brown duvet. "Have a seat, Arthur."

Arthur settled on the sofa, chocolate brown like the duvet but with golden throw pillows. "I don't need to be specific," he said as Eames disappeared behind a glass door, where he guessed the kitchen was. "You know exactly what I'm talking about." He looked at the curios on the table next to the sofa: small statues made out of red glass and an antique desk clock. Arthur glanced at his watch; the thing still worked, surprisingly.

Eames came out after a few minutes. "Well, why don't we discuss this over tea like proper gentlemen?" He set down the tea service and poured the boiling water into the teapot. "I'm afraid I only have Darjeeling." He gestured. "And chocolate digestives, as I wasn't really expecting guests."

Arthur blinked and took a digestive, taking a bite and watching as Eames settled into the over-stuffed chair. Silence fell over the two of them as they waited for the tea to brew. Eames poured it, and Arthur added one sugar cube to his while Eames preferred a milky sweet tea.

"Thank you," Arthur mumbled and took a sip of his tea. "Oh, this is good…"

"I would say thank you, but I didn't have anything to do with the quality of the tea," Eames replied, crossing his leg. "So, tell me, Arthur, what was the mistake? You are talking to me. I am riddled with them."

Arthur tilted his head. "Do you really believe that?"

Eames leaned forward and grabbed another digestive. "I'm sure you do."

Arthur stared at Eames's shoulder as he nibbled at the digestive. He shook his head. "The mistake. How we first met."

"I'm surprised you would actually remember that," Eames mused, taking a sip of his tea.

Arthur stared at Eames. "We fucked. You paid for it."

Eames cleared his throat. "Well you were bloody well selling it, weren't you?"

Arthur gripped the handle of his mug tightly. He could feel his jaw set, his teeth scraping against each other. He took a deep breath through his nose. "It was a _mistake_ ," he insisted. "I…"

Eames rolled his eyes and looked away for a moment. "Look, Arthur, we have all done things we are not proud of. For some reason, ten years ago, I was a much younger man on leave in New York City, and you were a pretty young twink looking to score." Eames looked back at Arthur. "Do I have it right so far?"

Arthur set down his mug; his stomach was threatening a revolt. "Yes, that's right."

"Good, because I would hate for you to quibble over a lack of _specificity_ , darling," Eames growled. "I would have been a very stupid man to have said no to your offer. And, all told, it was a very excellent night. You and I got off together, and you got a bit of my hard-earned combat pay." He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, looking off out the window. "I know you've turned into some high-minded, pretentious, completely rigid Tom Ford clone, but when I look at you I see…" He looked at Arthur. "Well, it doesn't matter what I see, does it?"

Arthur felt deflated; he slumped back against the sofa and stared at the antique clock. He could hear the quiet ticking, and the air in the room felt charged, overheated. He could still feel Eames's eyes on the side of his face. "It was a mistake because I would have done it for free," he said to the clock.

"Well, I'm not exactly asking for the money back," Eames said, and Arthur looked at Eames, brow furrowed but a confused half-smirk on his face. "When I look at you I see the same boy from the club, in those torn jeans and that cracked brown leather jacket. You had longer hair then, too."

Arthur nodded. "And you were wearing combat boots. I thought it was some sort of fetish thing." Eames snorted.

"Well then." Eames poured himself another cup of tea, and Arthur reached over and grabbed his wrist. Eames held Arthur's gaze, until Arthur's eyes flicked towards Eames's bedroom.

"We could always make up for it," Arthur said. "Nothing like a second time."

"I don't have to pay this time, do I?"

Arthur let go of Eames's wrist, but only to punch Eames as hard as he could in the shoulder. Eames grunted and rubbed the spot. "Or we could not, if you're going to be violent," Eames grumbled.

"Shut up," Arthur mumbled. "Not that I've been thinking about it for the last ten years, but…you know, it's not like you're easy to forget."

Eames stood up to put away the tea things. "My, my, Arthur, you do know how to flatter a man," he said. "No wonder you have a host of people queued up, just waiting for their chance with you."

Arthur got up. "Don't sound so surprised," he muttered and walked into Eames's bedroom. There was a bed and a dresser, and the door to the ensuite bathroom was open. Arthur concentrated on the bedroom. Eames had no television, but he had an iPod docked in a little radio. Arthur was tempted to look at Eames's music. Arthur turned; the top of the dresser was messy with files, and above the dresser were pictures of their next target's mistress, covered with Post-it notes.

"Find something fascinating?" Eames asked, and Arthur looked up. Eames took off his suit jacket and opened his closet to hang it up.

"It's your handwriting. It changes on every note."

"The thing about being a forger for so long is that you sort of…forget yourself." He frowned. "Memories, thought processes." He stood close to Arthur and looked at the notes. "At least you're not saying anything about my spelling."

Arthur turned to Eames and raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think it was appropriate," he muttered. Eames slid his fingers under the lapels of Arthur's suit jacket and pulled him close to kiss him. Arthur reached up and pressed his hands to Eames's back as they kissed, and moaned when Eames touched his tongue to Arthur's lips, opening his mouth to Eames's ministrations.

Eames pushed Arthur's jacket off his body and then put his hands on Arthur's waist, pulling back to catch his breath. Arthur bit his bottom lip, taking a deep breath as well before pushing Eames back onto his bed. "You ever make your bed?"

"Not since…" Eames busied himself with Arthur's tie, sliding it from around Arthur's neck and kissing him again. "Not since I lived at home with me mum," he mumbled, and Arthur shifted to straddle Eames. Eames twisted his fingers in the mussed sheets as he watched Arthur unbutton his shirt.

"Always watching," Arthur whispered, and Eames let his eyes sweep over Arthur's chest, his flat stomach, down the cut of his hips. He reached up and smoothed his hand over Arthur's thigh, squeezing it gently.

"Always," Eames repeated, and took a deep breath as Arthur unbuttoned Eames's shirt, pushing it off Eames's shoulders, his fingers reaching out to trace the tattoo along Eames's collarbone. Eames shifted to push his shirt off more completely, and then carried the momentum forward to flip Arthur over and tug at his trousers, pulling them off easily. Arthur lifted his hips so that Eames could pull off his boxer-briefs next.

Arthur didn't realise what Eames was doing until he had settled between Arthur's legs, his knees buffeting Eames's sides. He was already half hard; Eames took him in his hand and stroked him to full hardness easily before slipping that glorious mouth over the head of his cock. Arthur groaned, closing his eyes and gripping Eames's shoulder. Eames's mouth was almost too skilled, too perfect; he pulled back to flick his tongue up the underside of Arthur's cock, wrapped his hand around the shaft and stroked while he took Arthur's balls in his mouth. Arthur pushed two knuckles into his mouth and bit down, muffling his groans when Eames went back to his cock, sucking him down.

Arthur felt dizzy, eyes rolling back in his head as he gripped the sheets, ran his hand over Eames's shoulder, his hair, rocking his hips aimlessly. Eames kept up, swallowing Arthur's cock whole, pulling back when Arthur pushed in, coughing politely and holding Arthur's hip down as he went down again. Arthur finally cried out, muttering, _soon, soon_ , more like exhalations than real words, and he felt himself coming.

He looked down and blinked, mouth agape. Come streaked Eames's cheeks, clung to his mouth, slid down his jaw, his neck. "Bad about swallowing," Eames said idly, but didn't move to wipe Arthur's come off as he got on his knees, pulling Arthur close. Their lips smashed together in a kiss, and Arthur found himself licking at Eames's lips, tongue sliding over the taste of himself. He moved to Eames's cheeks, tongue flicking over the salty-bitter taste of _him_ , then down Eames's neck, where he licked up come and sweat together, tangy and strong and sticky. Eames groaned, gripping Arthur's hips and pushing him back so he could lean towards the bedside table and dig around for a condom and lube.

Eames's fingers were thick and insistent as he worked Arthur open, bending, seeking as they kissed, and as Arthur licked up any remnants of come from Eames's face and neck. His tongue scraped over stubble and smooth skin all at once, and all he could smell was sex and sweat and _Eames_. Eames groaned and pulled his fingers out, impatient enough to push in without preamble and push Arthur against the headboard.

Arthur forgot how broad and thick and strong Eames was—Eames had a tendency to slouch, to hide in perfectly tailored shirts, to make himself secondary to whatever ugly thing he was wearing. But here, naked, cock pushed into Arthur and pressed shoulder to hip against him, it was hard to ignore Eames's thick neck, his ridiculous arms, everything sculpted out of pure muscle. Arthur slid his fingers into Eames's hair as Eames thrust into him, and looked him in the eyes. Eames was still watching his face, eyes moving over Arthur's gaping mouth and furrowed brow and the sweat sliding down Arthur's neck. Arthur cupped Eames's face and kissed him again, until Eames's thrusts became erratic, hard, bruising. Eames moaned something unintelligible against Arthur's mouth and then came, turning away from Arthur's lips and burying his face into Arthur's neck.

Eames lowered Arthur down and pulled off the condom, flipping it into the rubbish bin close to the bed and sliding close to Arthur, spreading his fingers over Arthur's hips.

"You're not going to make me wait another ten years, are you?"

Arthur snorted, reaching back and smacking Eames's thigh. Eames nodded as if he were satisfied with the answer, pulling Arthur back against him.

**Author's Note:**

> title from [ten years gone by led zeppelin](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/ledzeppelin/tenyearsgone.html). for [](https://lemniciate.livejournal.com/profile)[**lemniciate**](https://lemniciate.livejournal.com/) , and thank you to [](https://i-m-pk.livejournal.com/profile)[**i_m_pk**](https://i-m-pk.livejournal.com/).


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